


Behind Blue Eyes

by kansas_byrne



Category: Fallout 4, Supernatural
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansas_byrne/pseuds/kansas_byrne
Summary: Dean has snuck out of his settlement to scavenge drugs. He's pretty sure there's no raiders in this part of town.He's wrong.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fallout 4. Dean Winchester. Tasty gang rape. 
> 
> It's like dumb o'clock am. 
> 
> Not edited.

He lets himself into the building carefully. He hadn’t heard about any raiders here in a long time, so it should be safe to find what he needs. This used to be a pharmacy, and while the main floor is wiped out of all supplies, he’s pretty sure that he can find what he’s looking for in the residence above it, or the basement. A lot of these places had secret store rooms, back in the day. 

Most settlements are out in the country, for good reason, but Blind Alley has its perks, and one of them is that getting parts or food or meds isn’t as hard as it could be. Dean sneaks back into the employee back room and carefully pushes aside debris. Bingo. A secret storeroom door. 

He’s working the lock on it, concentrating hard because he’s already lost like three bobby pins, and for some reason this thing is sticking and won’t come loose - when he’s grabbed from behind suddenly by two men. They twist his arms behind his back savagely, making him yelp. 

He never heard them coming, not expecting raiders, especially not stealthy ones. It’s six of them, hard faced and scarred, each of them wearing a beautifully made leather jacket over makeshift armor, wings painted on the back.

Their leader crouches, smiling, filling Dean with dread. He has a scar that stretches from his right temple to his left jaw, giving him the look of a jigsaw puzzle out of alignment. His hair, black and shiny, is pulled back into a tight ponytail. He tilts Dean’s chin up with the muzzle of his gun, looking into his face. His eyes are a startling blue.

“Look what we have here. Pretty. Very pretty. What are you doing in our territory, pretty boy.” 

One of the guys with him starts laughing, “How stupid are you. Don’t you know this is Angel’s territory?”

Despite his predicament, he bristles at that. He’s not a boy, he's almost twenty, and he’s not stupid. It must show in his face, because that gets a chuckle. “Fierce. I like it. This is your lucky day, pretty thing.” 

Dean struggles defiantly. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Well, I’m not in the mood to add a whelp to our ranks, and gutting you would be such a shame. So we’re going to have a little fun, and then I’ll let you go. Stand him up, get him over there.” 

They force him, despite his best efforts, to an intact table, surrounded by mostly broken chairs and bend him over it. Dean’s blood runs cold and he snaps, fighting as hard as he can against them. 

When he’s done, he has a bloody nose. One of them is unconscious, bleeding heavily from the ear. Despite it, he’s back where he started, bent over the table, panting from exertion and rage. Angel leans down, a savage grin splitting the broken face. His lip is bleeding, and he licks it. 

“This is going to be so much more fun than I thought.” 

Two of them hold Dean down. Angel stands behind him, slowly running his hands over Dean’s ass and back. Slowly, sweetly, he slides them around to gently undo the buttons of his pants. Hooking his thumbs into the fabric, he pulls them down. They go down to his knees but no further, hampering any further attempt at flight, even if he wasn’t pinned securely. 

He hears a sharp intake of breath. “Gorgeous. Simply breathtaking. You must live well in some settlement, sweetheart. No raider has an ass like this.” 

“Boss… just hurry up and fuck him!” one of the men in the corner of the room whines. 

“Shut up, or you won’t get a turn,  _ and  _ I’ll let this boy kill you when we’re done. Look at his face, he’d like nothing more than to shove a Nuka grenade up your ass right now.” 

Dean hears the jingling of metal against leather, and then fabric rustling. The soft sound of something squirting out of a bottle and the unmistakable squelching noise of Angel jacking himself off a little with a wet hand for a second or two. Then, gripping Dean's hip he slowly guides his cock to press against his hole. 

“Please..” Dean whispers. 

The chuckle from behind him precedes the long slow push into his ass. He’s slicked, but Dean isn’t prepared, so it hurts, a searing, unforgiving pain. Bucking hard, he tries to get the man off him, but it’s no use. Angel pushes and pushes, making a long, low gutteral sound in the back of his throat as he does. Until he finally stops, bottoming out.

There’s a second where it seems like time itself has stopped, and then he starts to fuck Dean. While the push into him was slow, almost tender, Angel has no such thing in mind now. He’s brutal, fast and hard, gripping Dean by the hair as he pounds into him. 

The raiders burst into cheers, egging him, chanting  _ Angel Angel Angel,  _ whooping and banging on things. The table scrapes against the floor with every thrust. One of them opens up his pants and starts fucking his own fist, eyes glittering as he watches. 

Panting and grunting, he praises Dean. “Good, taking it so good, sweetheart. It’s like you were made to take it. I bet your pretty lips would look good around my cock, too. Oh oh fuck, yes - YES!” 

He stills, one hand so tight in Dean’s hair that he rips some out, the other clenched on his hip as he comes, balls deep. He pulses and pulses for what feels like forever. Finally, breathing hard, he pulls out. Dean can feel it dripping down his legs. 

“Bloatfly, it’s your turn.” He says, walking around the table to look into Dean’s eyes. 

Dean spits at him. “You think you took something? That’s not my first, you sick shit.” 

The man smiles again, wiping sweat off his brow. “Good for you, my sweet bun. So I’m not your first. But I’m the best. I bet no one else has given you what you need.” 

Dean’s so focused on him that he misses the ugly fucker he’d called ‘Bloatfly’ walking around behind him  _ This _ guy isn’t gentle, and whatever retort Dean had dies on his lips at the feel of being penetrated, hard and fast.

'Bloatfly' fucks like a jackrabbit, his hips working quick and furiously, muttering ‘yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah’ over and over. Fucking into the come already in Dean’s hole, squishing and squelching. It’s over in a matter of seconds, and he yells incoherently as he finishes. 

Angel pulls out a pack of cigarettes and gestures with his head at another one. “Your turn, Slash.” 

Dean is mounted again. He and Angel stare at each other as Dean is raped. Then again by another man. And again, over and over. The men holding down his arms are swapped out, but the fight is out of him now. He just limply takes it, unable to look away from the crisp, lust-hazed eyes of the man in front of him. 

He’s hard again, slowly stroking himself as his men fuck Dean, until finally, the last one finishes, smacking Dean’s ass and yelling something that sounds like a garbled ‘Yeeeehaw’ as he does. 

They look at each other. “Open your mouth,” he says to Dean quietly. He’s close, but reigning it in, shaking a little. 

Dean wants to defy him, but he’s tired. Tears slip down his cheeks silently, and he just tilts his head back and opens his mouth. 

Angel groans and comes right into it and all over his face. It clumps in his eyelashes, goes up his nose a little, pools on his tongue and drips down his chin. 

Panting, tucking himself back into his pants. “Very. Very good boy. Someone get him up. Pull up his pants. He’s coming with us.” 

Dean growls as he’s being manhandled. “You promised..” 

Angel pulls him upright with his own hands, taking his leather jacket off and draping it over Dean’s shoulders possessively. “I lied, sweetheart. How could I give this up? You don’t want me to come  _ looking for you? _ Do you? You don’t want me to find your settlement?”

Dean’s legs give out. All he can think about is his sweet little brother in the hands of this brute. Angel catches him and holds him upright with no effort at all. 

“I’m going to love you for a very long time,” he says, kissing him lightly on the lips. 

Dean begs, “Angel, please, just let me go.” 

He smiles, blue eyes sharp and deep. “Only they call me that. You can call me by my name. Call me Castiel.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3AM brain thing. Not beta read.

Ang..Castiel is watching him. Sitting cross legged on an old desk, eating a package of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. The ancient paper rustles, but otherwise he’s utterly silent. Dean tries to ignore it.

He tries to give his entire attention to the job at hand. The poor fucker with the Pip boy had been lugging around about 500 fans for some reason, but the screws were useful, especially when repairing said Pip boy. Castiel’s order was to reset it, but just ripping it out of its owner ruins it. So Bloatfly had simply chopped off the guy’s arm and passed it over to Dean, smirking when he immediately, violently, threw up.

They were inside what used to be some school, fucking plastic pumpkins and cheerful decorations peeling off the walls. Castiel brought him to the bathroom, and silently cleaned him up. When they got back, the arm was no less disgusting, but Dean was wrung out enough to just handle it. 

They didn’t give him weapons yet. Castiel had handed over a very sharp, shiny scalpel from a case inside his bag, watching him placidly as he did so. Dean only thought about plunging it into one or the other of them once before he just sat on the floor with it and the arm and got to work. 

He’d been used to the constant vigilance and violence in the settlement, but somehow it was different. Castiel and his gang of Raiders were brutal, efficient, and completely hardened to it. They’d watch a woman gargle to death on her own blood without batting an eye, steal children, eat and fuck whatever they came across. 

Dean had been able to remove himself from the process of slicing carefully through this guy’s arm, retracting the leads buried into the arteries. He’d meticulously cleaned it, removing rust, dirt, blood and whatever else was all over it. 

Now, he was replacing the screws, using the guts of those fans. The inside of the thing looked fine, as far as he could tell. He’d always been good at this shit. Computers, building turrets and traps. 

He jumps when Castiel taps him on the shoulder. He hadn’t even heard him move. Dean looks up at him. 

Castiel holds out a bottle. “Nuka? You look thirsty.” 

The fucking hell of it is, Dean  _ is  _ thirsty. He hates that this man understands who he is with apparently no effort. 

He nods. Castiel pops the cap off and pockets it, handing him the drink. Leaning his hip against the desk, he watches Dean guzzle the warm soda, watching him swallow with an unnerving intensity.

When the bottle’s empty, Castiel asks, “Is it done?” 

Dean nods, swallows and wipes his mouth. “It is. You can wear it any time. Just put your arm through there. I’ve bypassed the need to have a vault key to activate it.” 

Castiel crouches, leather creaking. “Put it on.” 

Dean blinks. “Wh.. this isn’t for you?” 

He shakes his head. “This will help you do your job. Breaking into things, keeping track of inventory. Making sure you’re healthy. Put it on.” 

Owning one of these…almost everyone would kill for one. This is a treasure beyond any stash of caps or drugs anywhere. The staggered disbelief must show on his face, because Castiel nods, patiently. His eyes, bottomless and mesmerizing, rest on Dean’s. 

So he puts it on and activates it. The pain is only momentary as the leads burrow into his skin, infiltrating his arteries, his nerve centers. The Pipboy mascot comes up on screen, giving him a broad, smiling thumbs up. Dean fiddles with it until it knows his name, knows how he is, that he's just had a Nuka Cola, that he should sleep more. Because Dean knows what’s in his bag, it knows too, listing it neatly in categories. Dean plays with all the settings. Castiel looks over his shoulder at the map it shows him when he turns the dial. Everywhere that Dean has been, outlined settlements. Raider camps. 

“Good.” Castiel says, caressing the side of Dean's face. They stare at each other for a minute. Dean is dimly aware that the pip boy is reporting his heightened heartbeat. 

His thumb caresses Dean’s bottom lip. He stands up and looks down at him, breathing quickly through his nose. His fucking eyes, Dean is caught and held for a moment. before his body goes into overdrive,  like a revving engine in neutral. He knows what to do. Castiel has taught him. He doesn’t even need to say _anything_ anymore.  Dean brings himself up to his knees to open Castiel’s belt and his fly. 

It’s not eagerness that makes his hands shake when he draws the hardening cock out and begins to lick it. 

It’s not pleasure when he takes it into his mouth, sucking and bobbing his head. 

It’s not lust that makes him moan around Castiel’s cock, forcing it deep into his throat, holding his breath. Choking himself just to make both of those strong hands clench into his hair and hold him in place, hips snapping in a fast brutal rhythm, never letting up. 

It isn’t anything like love when he swallows and swallows it, hot and bitter and horrible. 

It’s nothing like that, he thinks, enduring the catcalls from the doorway when Castiel pulls out of his mouth. Kneeling, head hanging with his increasingly shaggy hair falling in his face, he listens to Castiel walk out of the room. 

_ What it is, _ he tells himself, wiping the back of his mouth mechanically,  _ is training.  _ So what if he’s hard and aching now. So what if the sight of Castiel calms him. It doesn’t mean anything that the very smell of him makes Dean feel almost drugged. He's a stupid, happily pliant slave.

The shackle on his wrist tells him that it’s concerned about his heart rate. Miserably, Dean ignores it and tunes the radio to that DJ in Diamond City, drowning out his own confused head with music.


End file.
